She's Enough
by Corinth
Summary: Oneshot. PostRage. Covers the events after Elliot punches in the locker in the episode with Gordon's interrogation. Olivia comes back and cleans him up. PLEASE R AND R! For EO shippers!


I own nothing.

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I don't know how long I sat there, feeling the blood dripping down my wrists and neck, staining my shirt. My hands were throbbing, but that was fine. Any physical pain was better than the horror and shame that was eating away at my heart, filling my head with images of the dead. I screwed up my eyes against the howl of turmoil that was fighting to break free. I couldn't even move.

I was vaguely aware of a door opening. I should have been worried it was Cragen, coming back for something. If he saw what I had done, if he had even more proof of my temper, he might have fired me. I just didn't care. It was all too much. I was exactly like Gordon.

No yelling broke my thoughts, no demands that I explain myself shattered the silence. I almost forgot that someone had come in until my hands were unclenched from my hair and brought down to rest on my knees. It was then that I knew who had come. It was her.

Without a word, she started washing the blood from my hands. I did not look at her. I wouldn't have been able to bear seeing her eyes full of compassion and understanding that I didn't deserve. I focused on her hands.

Her touch was so gentle, so careful. She didn't want to hurt me. Her skin was warm from the bucket of water she was dipping a cloth in. I noted without caring how red the water was becoming.

What I did find interesting enough to concentrate on was the way her hands could be so tender when I needed her, but I also knew her fingers were capable of shooting a gun. How could those be the same two hands as these?

Because Olivia is in control of herself. She doesn't get carried away with her role as a cop and let 'righteous' violence take over. She hates hurting people.

I'm not sure that I do.

I felt the cloth moving on my neck, in my hair. She still hadn't said anything. She silently surveyed the wreckage I had become and stayed with my anyway. There's no one like her. I don't even like to think what I would be without Olivia.

She knelt down in front of me and started unbuttoning my shirt. She was so close that I couldn't help but finally look into her eyes. I saw the compassion that I had been dreading, but more than that I saw the love. She loved me in spite of what I was, in spite of what she saw.

I allowed her to remove my shirt and cast it aside so she could wash off the blood that had trickled all the way down to my elbows. I still had not thought about what she was even doing at the precinct, but I did realize that Olivia was cleaning off the blood. My blood. My blood was one her hands, and she didn't care. She wasn't clinical about the whole thing, like they would have been in a hospital. She didn't protect herself with gloves or take any other precautions. I can't even begin to explain what that meant to me. She didn't mind connecting with me, even when I was at rock bottom.

I have no idea where she found another of my shirts. I guess I must have left one at the office at some point, but I don't know why I would have done that. How is it that she knows things about me that I don't even know?

She helped me put it on, not letting me button it myself. "Don't," she said when I tried. The first word she said to me since she came. She was probably right that I shouldn't try. I might have started bleeding more.

She found some peroxide in a first aid kit and cleansed the gashes on my hands, finally bandaging them. Even after she was done, she stayed on her knees at my feet.

"What are you doing here, Olivia?"

"I forgot something."

"You never forget anything."

"I was worried about you," she admitted, her voice soft.

"Because I can't control myself?"

"Because I care about you." She was silent for a few minutes before she said, "Do you think the locker needs any of this?", holding up the bandages and peroxide.

I almost smiled. "What time is it?"

"Eleven-thirty. You should get home. Get some sleep."

I shook my head. "I'm fine."

"Right, Elliot."

"Look, you wouldn't understand."

I felt her fingers under my chin, forcing me to look at her. "Who would understand better than me, El?"

I'm not a psychologist, I can't conclude anything about the whole nature/nurture thing, but I know that Olivia and I both have reasons to be violent people. My father was abusive, so maybe I started having violent tendencies as a reaction to that, or maybe it's some genetic thing. Liv's mom abused her and her dad was obviously inclined to violence. We both have 'excuses'. So why am I like this and she's not?

I know she worries that she inherited some violent streak from her dad and that's why she became a cop, but that's complete bullshit. Olivia sometimes has to be aggressive to take down a perp, but her concern and sympathy for the victims always outweighs her anger. Me? Oh, I care about the victims, no question, but I hate the perps far more. I lose control so much it's practically a running joke in New York. Olivia couldn't possibly understand my savagery.

"You're a good man, Elliot."

I scoffed, not fishing for compliments, but truly unable to hear her call me that.

"I know you don't believe me," she continued, "but I don't care. I know it's true."

I couldn't even summon the energy to fight her. I was too exhausted. I just needed to think about something else, anything other than Gordon's words.

He said I can only control myself because Kathy, my kids, Cragen, and countless others are there to keep me in line. And it's true. The fact that I let them control me, that I appreciate it, does not make me a good man. Olivia stays in line by herself. She doesn't have a family. She has every reason to be like me, but she's not. That's what a good person is.

"Let me drive you home," she said. "I'll pick you up in the morning."

"No."

She sighed. "Elliot, I'm not letting you stay here."

"Let's go to your place." I raised my eyes to look at her. She looked surprised.

"Ok," she finally replied quietly.

She waited as I got to my feet and put on my jacket. We walked out to her car and got in. I rolled down my window.

As the cool air hit my face, I finally realized what I had seen. Olivia loved me. More than as a friend, more than as a partner. She loved _me_. I glanced at her, but she didn't notice.

Olivia is one of the people who keep me in line. But she is different because she is the only one who sticks around even when her efforts fail, even when I give in to the rage. She sometimes reprimands me, but she is always beside me anyway. That's what love is. That's what I don't have with anyone else, even Kathy. Especially not Kathy. If my wife saw the way I am when I get so mad, she would never stand by me. She would leave and not look back.

Olivia helps me up, no matter how many times I fail her. Always.

"Thanks, Liv," I said softly, staring out of the windshield.

Out of the corner of my eye, I saw her turn to me. "Of course," she said simply.

Love. Being worried about me, coming to help me, accepting me even after I lost it…it wasn't even a question for her. _Of course_. _Of course_.

I don't want to be like Gordon. I don't want to be the way that I am. But Olivia loves me. That will get me through.


End file.
